Knock, Knock
by Karma Dragonia
Summary: Earth #1 Harrison Wells x Female!Reader. Set before Season One, before the S.T.A.R Labs accelerator explosion. Smut with a long build up. One-shot. Cover Screenshot by maggiedens. FINISHED


Everyone has started clocking out for the day.

You watch as Ronnie, Caitlin and Cisco pack up their workstations. You know that they are off to spend their evenings doing... whatever it is they intend to do. Dinner. TV. Perhaps an old movie, in Cisco's case. Individual people, leading their individual lives, off to kick back in comfort and peace.

Meanwhile, you will be going back to Dr Wells' house, where he has very generously allowed you to stay while your apartment undergoes major flood repairs (that is the last time you let your cousin try to repair a leaky faucet).

Caitlin waves goodbye to you as she and Ronnie walk pass your desk and out of the Cortex, their arms comfortably around each other. You return the wave. They suit one another so well, you think, and not for the first time.

With a quiet sigh you look at your phone; it is about time you started thinking about clocking out too. You switch off your desk light, grab your bag and make for the direction of Dr Wells' office. You already suspect he will be there. He almost always is.

When you turn the corner, you catch sight of him through the large glass windows of his office. He is bowed over his desk, pen in hand and blue eyes darting back and forth between documents. He looks just as you thought he might; lost completely in his science. You smile inwardly to yourself. It is always nice to be reassured that you know someone so well. Even a genius scientist has his habits.

You watch him as you approach, your pace slowing to a stop half way down the hall. You feel like you are about to interrupt some sort of private moment. Harrison looks so engaged in his work; he does not appear to notice his surroundings. He is focused, single-minded, and it is almost...

You stop yourself there. That is inappropriate.

He is your boss. He is kind to everyone, not just you. He is a great man, and has suffered much these past five years. He has lost his wife, conflicted with the military, fought project funding issues...

And he has given no indication that he might return your affections.

It is a lost cause, you tell yourself. Better to just push it aside, and look elsewhere.

And yet...

Your eyes shift upwards, back to Wells. He looks good in black. He only ever wears black, you have noticed. Your eyes trace the curve of his shoulders as he shifts some papers around and pushes his glasses up his face with a finger.

Hope is dangerous thing.

You suddenly remember where you are supposed to be going, and shake yourself out of your thoughts.

Approaching his office, you knock politely on the open door. Wells looks up at you, his vibrant blue eyes locking with yours.

He smiles, "Ah, (Y/N), I was wondering when you'd come."

You enter his office in a stride, "Everyone else has already clocked out. I think perhaps it's time we called it a day too." You answer.

Wells leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head and scanning the mess of documents in front of him, "I think perhaps I would have to agree with you. The rest of this can wait until tomorrow."

He breathes deeply, and with a smile gets up and gestures for you to follow. Together you and he walk to the front doors of S.T.A.R Labs, ready to go home.

-xxxxxxxxxxxxx-

The car ride is silent, but it is a comfortable silence. You are driving.

Wells looks out of the window in the passenger seat next to you. You get the impression that his head is still back at work by the way he stares, unseeing, at the buildings that blur past. You do not notice the affectionate smile that curves your lips, but when Wells glances at you, he does.

"What are you smiling about?" He asks.

The grin falls from your face and you look at him with confusion, "What?"

He laughs, indicating your mouth, "It was right there. You were smiling."

"Um, I guess I was just thinking." You answer.

Wells watches you, prompting you to elaborate. You suddenly realise that this is going to get awkward if you do not lie, but you do not want to lie to your boss. You worry your lip a little, thinking, before you answer him.

"It was just...uh, you, I guess."

Wells is visibly surprised, raising both his eyebrows. He shifts in his seat to face you more.

You laugh, "No, I mean, you were just staring out the window, it seemed like you were lost in your head and, I don't know, you seemed so peaceful? I glanced at you and I guess it made me smile." You try to shrug it off, but you fear it is obvious that you are flustered.

The smallest of smiles graces Wells' lips, "Alright then." He nods, returning his gaze to the window, "I can work with 'peaceful'."

-xxxxxxxxxxxxx-

It is not long before you pull up outside his house.

'House', actually, is an understatement. The place is large, modern and grand, with glass ceilings and a cool slate grey colour scheme throughout.

You remember the first time you laid eyes upon it, the day Harrison kindly offered you a place to stay. You had audibly gasped, and he had laughed at your reaction. You had quickly apologised, but he assured you that it was okay. He admitted that the place had that effect on people.

Even now, looking upon his home gave you a sense of awe.

The front doors to his home swing inwards like some grand entrance to one of Cisco's sci-fi movies. You head straight for the kitchen, dumping your bag on the marble counter as you pass. You walk over to the fridge and open the door, poking your head inside to scan its contents. You hear Wells' footsteps enter the room after you.

"Anything in particular you want for dinner tonight? I thought I might cook, if that's okay." You say.

"Go for it." Wells answers, waving his hand dismissively, "I'm happy to try whatever you come up with."

You glance at him over your shoulder, and he flashes you a smile. You check for some meat in the freezer, and find some lovely steaks tucked in the corner. You pull them out, along with some potatoes, carrots, and other vegetables. A nice steak and steamed veggies is what you have in mind; easy enough, and with some gravy and spices, you know you can make it delicious.

Wells pours himself a glass of scotch from a crystal decanter on the other side of the room. He takes a moment to savour the taste, and glances at you while your back is turned. You do not hear him leave, so when you turn around to find yourself alone in the kitchen, you are surprised.

It does not bother you, however. You understand that Dr Wells is a private person, and he probably just wants some time to himself before dinner.

-xxxxxxxxxxxxx-

The steaks sizzle away in the frying pan, and already your mouth is watering. The veggies are steaming in a pot on the stove, and next to them, you are waiting for the gravy to thicken. You have already laid out the dining table, with a shining silver candelabrum placed in the centre. It is perhaps a bit too much, but at least you have not lit the candles. That would certainly be presumptuous.

Your earlier thoughts regarding the 'lost cause' are far from your mind. For the moment, at least.

Wells enters the kitchen as you are stirring the gravy, "Ooh, that smells amazing." He says.

You grin, "Good! Would you mind watching it for a moment while I go and get changed?"

Wells shakes his head and steps across behind you, taking the wooden spoon from your hand. It is only once you are out of the kitchen that you become aware of just how sore your feet are. You also vaguely register a twinge in your lower back. You groan, unimpressed with your aches and pains, and walk to your room.

The room Wells has lent you is on the other end of the house. It is a spacious bedroom, with sleek, minimalist furniture and a walk-in wardrobe. You like it a lot.

You close the door behind you with a sigh. It will be nice to get out of your stuffy work clothes for the day. You unzip your skirt and start unbuttoning your blouse, walking over to the vanity table against the wall and sitting on the stool in front of it.

That is when you realise the twinge in your back is actually a soft throbbing, and it is spreading lower. It is making parts of you tingle for want of attention, and you know exactly what kind of attention it wants. You also realise that unless you do something about it now, the tingling and throbbing is going to get worse and bother you all through dinner.

What you are thinking is completely inappropriate, of course. You know that. But you have not been with anyone for some time now, with your work commitments commanding your attention. The sensation spreading down your body is not something you have felt since... in a long time.

The idea of trying to ignore it during dinner is... alarming.

What if Wells noticed? That would be a disaster.

No, you have to do something about it. Now.

The bedroom is dark. The curtains are drawn over the window, with only the tiniest slivers of golden sunset peeking around the edges. You slide your hand across your chest, avoiding eye contact with your reflection in the vanity mirror. The tips of your fingers tease the edge of your bra, testing, while your other hand glides up your back and unhooks it completely.

You stop. If you are going to do this properly, you think, then you are going to need your iPod and the bed.

You get to your feet, sliding your skirt off and letting it crumple to the floor as you move. You crawl onto your bed and flop over on the covers, snatching your iPod from the nightstand in a flourish.

You wedge the little white headphones into your ears, and start running your fingers over and through your hair when you press play. The sensation of having your hair stroked against the lazy rhythm of the music works to clear your head.

Your other hand, the one not tangled in your hair, snakes down your side. You can feel the protrusion of your hipbone under your palm, and trace circles around it with your thumb. You bite your lip. You need to think of something that turns you on...

Harrison Wells springs to mind.

You make a face and try to push the thought away, feeling like it is crossing a line. But the imagery is already working for you. The throbbing gets stronger with thoughts of how his black jumper fits his torso, the vibrancy of his eyes, his long, slender fingers... slowly, very slowly, you relent, allowing the images to enter your mind without resistance.

It already feels good.

Your hand parts the elastic of your underwear from your skin. Your fingertips dip below the edge, seeking out the tingling sensation below. You start rubbing circles against yourself, spreading the light wetness you find already present. Your eyes flutter closed.

The music begins to climax, and you rub faster. You think of his dark hair, his smile, his voice...

Your lungs grow tight and your breathing speeds up, until you are almost panting. You stop stroking your hair and turn up your iPod, fully intending to lose yourself in the music.

You imagine his bare skin against yours...

You shiver. Your hand automatically reaches for your breast, touching, exploring, rolling the peak of one nipple between your fingers...

It is too late when Wells opens the door. You did not hear him knock; your music was up too loud.

"(Y/N)?"

Your eyes snap open. You feel all the warmth in the room evaporate as the cool air of the passageway floods in. You jerk upright, ripping out your ear buds and grasping at your blouse to try and cover yourself.

Harrison Wells stands in the doorway, staring, unmoving. Your face goes pale as you lock eyes with him. You cannot decode his expression - whether it be of shock, anger or repulsion. You figure it has to be one of the three.

Wells drops his gaze to the floor, "I sincerely apologise for my intrusion." He says, "I tried knocking, but you didn't answer."

You open and close your mouth, a dozen sentences running through your head but none of them the right thing to say.

He does not wait for you to gather your thoughts. Turning his back to you, he speaks over his shoulder, "I had just come to tell you, dinner is ready when you are."

He closes the door and leaves without another word. You stare blindly at the place where he stood, feeling utterly and completely mortified. You consider yourself lucky he did not fire you on the spot.

It goes without saying, sitting down to dinner that night with Harrison Wells is one of the most uncomfortable experiences of your life.

-xxxxxxxxxxxxx-

After dinner, you cannot decide if retreating to your room early is a good idea, or if it will only serve to make things worse.

You currently stand in the kitchen, washing dishes in the sink. Wells has claimed a recliner in the living room, where he sits reading quietly under the yellow glow of a crystal floor lamp.

Dinner had been silent. You could not – and still cannot – shake your earlier embarrassment. You assume Wells feels the same, though he is much better at hiding it.

You want to apologise or _something_ , but you fear that bringing the topic up will not end well. Visions of the look on his face flash in your mind's eye, and you can feel your cheeks growing red again.

You messed up. That is a fact. Wells does not seem to want to make the first move to repair the damage. If he did, he would have done so by now. You think you know him well enough to be able to deduce that much, at least.

So, if anything is going to improve, it will have to be by your own initiative. You feel like the only way forward is to apologise. Formally. To his face.

You know that will be difficult. Of course it will. But afterwards, there is a better chance of things going back to normal then if you took no action at all.

And think, eventually your apartment will be fixed, and you will not have to stay with Dr Wells at all anymore.

Of course, you can forget any romantic feelings you had for him. There is no way that is going to happen, if there ever was a chance of it happening. But there will be time to deal with that loss later. First, an apology.

You rinse the last of the dishes and set them on the dish rack to dry. You wipe your hands on your pants, taking a moment to straighten your clothes and hair.

No better time than the present, right?

Taking a deep breath, you find your way into the living room. Wells looks up briefly from his book as you enter, then returns to the pages without a word.

You try to approach him, but halfway across the room you hesitate. Something inside you begins to panic. What exactly are you supposed to say? He does not seem to be in the mood for talking... How quickly can you get this over with? Is it better to leave it for tomorrow?

"(Y/N), is something the matter?"

Wells is watching you over the lip of his pages. You realise with a jolt that standing in the middle of the living room looking terrified was not the best course of action.

"I- uh, sorry, I just-" You start.

He partially closes his book, prompting you to focus your thoughts and go on.

"I just wanted to apologise, for earlier." You confess. You break your gaze from his with the last two words, your face flushing again. You wish it wouldn't.

"Ah..." Wells shuts his book and puts it to one side. Your breath hitches in your throat.

He continues, his voice gentle, "You didn't exactly do anything wrong," he says, "but I understand your embarrassment and I accept your apology none the less."

You are surprised to hear the first part, especially coming from a man. You are more surprised, though, at how well he is accepting the conversation. He does not seem nearly as embarrassed about the whole fiasco as you are.

Then Wells goes on, "However, I too think that I should apologise. I should not have entered your room without your permission. For that, I am sorry."

You bark a laugh, "Having to ask permission in your own house, wow-"

"It's no big deal, I assure you." He answers.

You sober your irony and nod, finding his generosity humbling. "Thank you, Doctor Wells. Apology accepted." You pause, but neither of you seem to have anything else to add, "I shall leave you to your book, then."

You turn to leave, but hear Wells get to his feet behind you, "(Y/N), wait."

You stop and turn, catching an unexpected, almost pained expression on his face. "Yes?"

He takes his glasses off and tosses them onto the chair behind him. He raises his blue eyes to yours, watching your face intently, scanning for a trace of something you are not sure he will find, "I know you feel embarrassed about earlier," he says, "...and I also know that you have certain, feelings, for me."

You open your mouth to respond, but he continues before you can speak, "And I want you to know that I'm sorry. I have deliberately not been reciprocating your affection, though I... I wish I could."

Words seem to fail you.

What?

"The truth is, I have feelings for you too. I want to be with you as much as you do me." He explains, "But we can't. There is too much in the way. S.T.A.R Labs, and... I have enemies..."

His voice falters. For the first time you see a yearning in his eyes that you had never known was there.

"... I also want you to know," his voice drops to barely above a whisper, "I wish I could make you look like that. Across the bed, flushed and panting. You looked beautiful."

Your heart pounds behind your ribs with such force you fear he can hear it.

Before you know what you are saying, a response spills out of your mouth, "You could."

Wells stares at you, unmoving.

You blink and look away, "I- I mean, I didn't know you felt the same. I had no idea."

His expression falls, "That failure is mine. I'm sorry." He repeats.

You raise your head and study him a moment, "I still want to try." You say.

He opens his mouth to respond, but it's your turn to speak, "I am capable of choosing my own relationships. I am not afraid. Whatever enemies you may have, I am willing to face them. With you."

Wells pauses, and a heavy silence descends over the room. Your throat feels tight.

"Please, let's try." You say, trying your best not to sound choked up.

Another pause, and the smallest of smiles graces Wells' lips, "You are a remarkable woman, (Y/N)." He purrs.

Something good blooms in your chest, the tightness loosens and you smile. He steps in close to you, his hands slipping around your waist. You can sense the words he is about to say;

"I do have feelings for you. And if this is what you want... then I can't say no."

He swoops down and captures your lips with his. It is sudden, unexpected, and you yield to it. You melt into him, as though it is the most natural thing in the world. Your stomach twists, not unpleasantly, as you taste him, and he tastes you.

You break apart from each other, his breath warm as it ghosts across your skin. You raise your hand to cup his face, watching his icy blue eyes memorise every detail of you they can steal. You rub your thumb along the ridge of his cheekbone.

You rock forwards against him, onto your tippy-toes, and chase his lips for another kiss. He leans in without hesitation, and a moan rumbles in his chest. It is clear he has wanted this for as long as you have.

His hand shifts from your hip to the small of your back, and he pulls you flush against his body. You wrap your arms around his neck, tilting your head to kiss him harder. He encourages you, lifting the back of your shirt slightly and smoothing his fingers across sensitive skin. You pull back for breath, panting a little. Wells nudges your cheek, prompting you to expose your neck to his mouth. He kisses down your throat, soft and warm, skilful and slow. He sweeps your hair off your shoulder, dipping lower. He sews wet kisses across your collarbone, and you close your eyes to the feel of it.

He nips your skin lightly with his teeth, making you shiver and your skin prickle with gooseflesh. You roll your head onto your shoulders, a long sigh escaping your lungs.

"Harrison..."

You feel him grin against your skin. You tangle your fingers in his dark hair, looking for purchase on the back of his skull. His kisses travel back up your neck, measured and teasing, finding their way to your ear. He nibbles at it, and you hear him hum softly. One of his hands slides down your side to your ass, where it settles, warm and comfortable, holding you to him.

Your hips move against his, your leg shifting to allow his to slide between your thighs. You can feel him better now, the obvious strain against his pants. With one hand still tangled in his hair, you reach down and loop your finger behind his belt. You tug softly, and Harrison notices. He slides his hand under your shirt, up your back, and unhooks your bra.

You stifle a giggle, feeling ecstatically dizzy already. The finger you have behind his belt seeks out the buckle, undoing it and making him groan.

Then Harrison takes your shoulders and spins you around. He guides you backwards, his eyes locked with yours, until your legs bump into the leather sofa. You fall backwards onto it, sinking into the depths of the cushions. He lowers himself onto you, and you shift sideways to lie down, Harrison following.

He presses his whole body down against you. He supports himself on his forearms so as not to crush you, and for the first time you realise just how strong he is. You find it surprising, but take precious little time to dwell on it.

He tosses his pants to the floor, and begins work on your garments. His hand glides up your side, lifting your top. It's almost ticklish. You wriggle out of it, and he throws it and your bra on top of his pants.

He leans down and kisses you again, deep and heated, as you fumble with the knot on your sweatpants. When you break apart for breath, you kick them off and they disappear somewhere over the arm of the sofa. With your help, Harrison pulls his black jumper and shirt together over his head. The motion is quick and rough and the result leaves him with fluffy, messy hair. You grin, and so does he.

You cannot find his lips again fast enough.

You can feel your skin beginning to tingle and warm, and Harrison seems to know it. His tongue darts hot and wet between your lips. You can almost taste his need.

You run your hands over his exposed body, scratching your nails lightly over his stomach and down his back.

"(Y/N)..." He whispers.

The way your name falls from his lips, filtered through his dark, aroused voice, makes your pulse race. You want to hear him say it again - louder.

You reach down and rub your open palm over the bulge between his legs, giving the smallest hint of friction. His breath hitches.

"(Y/N)..!" He gasps.

His reaction makes you feel powerful, but you don't have the heart to tease him again. You try to slip your fingers over the elastic of his waistband, but Harrison stops you. He grabs your wrist and pulls your hand above your head, pinning it down with his forearm.

"You're first." He breathes.

Your eyes widen as he lowers his head and takes one of your nipples in his mouth. He swirls the nub with his tongue, stimulating the skin to harden. You sigh, your legs curling in on themselves and your eyes closing. Your free hand fumbles blindly up his side, raking over his shoulder and tangling in his hair as he moves to lavish attention on your other nipple.

Your breasts tingle under his touch, and you can feel yourself becoming impatiently wet. You try to encourage him faster, panting his name.

"Harrison... _Harri_ son..."

He silences you with a kiss. He is not about to ignore your needs, however, and you feel his fingers responding to your quietened moans. They glide down over your stomach, caressing your hips, before delving below the fabric of your underclothes. He parts your opening and touches around, rubbing gently, searching for your sweet spot.

You inhale sharply when he finds it; the thrill curling your toes. Harrison watches you with blazing eyes and a smile as you squirm beneath him. He relishes the way you bite your lip and scrunch your eyes. He spreads your wetness with his fingers, and you can feel yourself dripping down your thighs. The heat building in your core is apparent to you now, and you know it will not take long.

Harrison hums, noting your physical state. He releases the hand pinned above your head and sits back on his calves. You blink repeatedly, trying to clear the fog in your head enough to see what he is doing.

He places both his hands on your hips and smooths them down, parting your legs. You feel cool air for only a moment before the tip of his length glides across your entrance, all the way forwards then back again. You shiver.

Harrison bows his head and kisses the skin just above your navel, "Are you ready, (Y/N)?" He asks.

"Yes." You answer breathlessly.

Harrison guides himself into your core with one hand, and you moan as he fills you. He crawls on top of you again, his hips rocking back and forth, slow and methodical. You try to wriggle, craving more friction. He pulls back and enters again, slow and easy.

His next thrust is stronger. And again. It leaves your whole abdomen throbbing. Harrison raises himself up on his hands, arching his back almost cat-like and groaning deep within his chest. You grip his forearms tightly and buck your hips hard into his next thrust, causing you both to cry out.

Your pace together quickens, and it feels like your nerves all over your body are singing. Your eyes are open but you cannot see through the delirium of pleasure, only feel his skin flaring against yours and hear the tangled rapture of your combined cries.

With an uneven, erratic thrust, Harrison comes hard inside you. You follow not soon after, the feeling like an explosion of euphoria in your core. The pleasure ripples to the very ends of your fingers and toes, and you ride it out with ragged gasps and shivers.

Harrison collapses beside you, his skin pressed hot and sweaty to the backrest of the sofa. He is panting as hard as you are, and you shuffle over to give him more room. The sofa is just about wide enough to accommodate both of you, if you cuddle together. Harrison is not averse to the idea, and he lays his arm out for you to rest on, before curling it back and settling his hand on your waist.

He holds you close to him as you both lull in the afterglow. You can feel his warm breath on your hair, and his heartbeat under your hand. He kisses your forehead tenderly, and you smile into his chest.

You know you and he are going to be late to work tomorrow, but you wouldn't want it any other way.

-xxxxxxxxxxxxx-

END


End file.
